


Remember This (Once Upon A Time, We Lived and Loved In Shadows)

by sarcastic_fina



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:53:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want everything we have in this room and in your truck and on my couch; I want that in the rest of Dillon… I want that on the football field and in the halls at school and at the Alamo Freeze. I want you over for dinner with my parents and I want to hold your hand in public and I just— I— I want all of it… Okay?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember This (Once Upon A Time, We Lived and Loved In Shadows)

 

 

"What are we doing?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. She stared up at the ceiling, her brows furrowed. It was pitch dark out, a cool breeze slipping in through the half-open window, his curtains rustling. The Christmas lights over his bed were the only source of light, marking the walls with shadows, making every angle of his face, every muscled inch of his body look even more defined than usual.

His head balanced on his arm while he laid on his side, one of his legs hooked around hers, his fingers drawing on her bare stomach, random shapes for the most part, although every once in a while he'd draw a couple 3's; it made her lips twitch without fail.

"Not obvious?" he said, his voice deep, low, rough.

She shivered involuntarily, her eyes closing for a moment as she tried to focus when all she wanted to do was lean up into the touch of his fingers, calloused and warm, heavy as they kept moving, skimming over her ribs, where he knew she was ticklish, siding low to trace her hips bones with his thumb. Eventually, like always, he'd lay his palm flat, fingers spread, and use it to pull her to him, drag her in until her back pressed to his front, spooned by his large, heavy frame, warm and comfortable, and drowsy with it. With the scent of him invading every inhale, spicy and sweaty and male. His hair smelled like hers; a perk of her keeping a bottle of shampoo and conditioner at the house, which the Riggins boys seemed to appreciate, despite rarely buying it for themselves.

She briefly wondered how odd that was; that she kept those kinds of things in his bathroom. She had a brush on his dresser and a couple changes of clothes in the drawers. She had a spare pair of shoes in his closet and a tiny jewelry box on the bedside table. Tim had put it there, with its red velvet inside, saying, "You're always lookin' for your earrings, now you'll know where they are."

It'd been going on for months now and she might've questioned herself a few thousand times over why she hadn't said anything earlier. Why she hadn't asked for some kind of clarification on what exactly they were to each other. She considered the possibility that she didn't want to know her answer and so didn't ask the question. What if he said they were just having fun? That it was nothing, meaningless, easily forgotten or swept under the rug? She wondered if Tyra ever felt like this when she was with Tim. Or Lyla. If they wanted desperately to know how he felt, if they mattered, what they were to each other in the grand scheme. But then she remembered Lyla was Tim's love of his life, so she probably never had to wonder, she just knew. She knew what she meant to him because he always tried with her, always wanted her.

Tim wasn't what Julie would classify as an accident so much as a surprise. He was dropping by the house more, watching tape with her dad, trying to get on the straight and narrow, or so her dad praised. "He has a lot of heart," she could hear her dad saying, in that proud 'Coach' voice of his, "Just not enough hope to get much done for himself." She often found them playing ping-pong in the garage and she'd just watch, leaning in the door way, noticing how Tim was always quiet, watching and rarely speaking, smiling and chuckling and letting her dad do all the smack talking, filling the garage with his hot air, constantly trying to keep Tim around for  _one more round_  to further prove that he was the better athlete, no matter how many times his fullback won.

So it wasn't surprising when Tim had start showing up without invitation, sometimes finding her dad was there, others finding he wasn't. And she invited him in, told him the TV was all his while she broke out a book and curled up at the other end of the couch. Sometimes she talked, filling the silence like she was prone to do, feeling awkward at first with how at ease he was while all she could do was peek at him from over her book, watching him lazily sprawl on the couch, feet on the coffee table, hands stacked on his stomach, hair falling in his eyes. She called it a study in jock behavior at first, a constantly amusing running commentary in her head about 'the jock in his natural habitat.' Until one day he nudged her foot and asked her what was so funny. She lied and told him it was something in her book, which she hadn't turned a page of in more than a half hour.

"Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow. "Well share the wealth, Taylor. Let's hear what the fuss is about…"

Which somehow led to her reading to Tim a lot. He'd come to visit, often on nights he knew her dad wasn't around, on date night with her mom or at the school working on plays with the other coaches, and he'd take up his usual space on the couch before asking her what she was reading. After a brief synopsis, she'd start reading from where she'd gotten to, glancing at him every few seconds to see how he was enjoying it. But Tim's face gave away little while she talked, though sometimes he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the couch, his arm curved up behind him as he just let her talk and talk and talk. And then it'd get to be that time, right before her parents got home, and like he had some kind of internal clock, he'd open his eyes and let her finish her sentence before he stood up. "See ya," he'd say before he walked out, that slow, lingering gait of his making her watch after him, his wide shoulders rocking side to side.

Without fail, he'd come back, assume the position, and wave her on. She started looking specifically for books he'd like or she wanted to share and finding passages in them she wanted him to hear and enjoy, whether he showed it or not. She started looking forward to her parent's date night, even if it meant Gracie Belle was all hers to take care of.

Slowly, the space between her and Tim began to evaporate. He started out at one end of the couch and then one day he was in the middle and then he was right next to her, and then one day his head was in her lap and she was letting her fingers run through his hair while she held her book with her other hand, only reaching up to turn the page. It went on like that for weeks, with her feeling the zing of anticipation running up and down her legs, making her stomach flip-flop and her heart stutter. And she'd watch his face, the way it relaxed and his brow unfurled, and she'd wonder what he was thinking, what he thought about what was happening between them.

It only changed because her stomach grumbled.

It was one of the few times her parents left for the weekend to visit Shelley, taking Gracie Belle with them, and only left Julie at home because she had a report due on Monday that she planned on spending the majority of her weekend writing. Only Tim showed up on the Friday; he took his place on the couch, hands stacked on his stomach, legs crossed at the ankle, head cradled in her lap. She was involved with her book, reading out each word with reverence, and then her stomach let her know that they'd been at it for hours and she hadn't eaten yet.

His eyes opened, stared up at her, and for a moment she was worried that the bubble had been popped and he would leave now when they had all night to keep up their routine. Instead, he rolled out of her lap and said, "C'mon."

They wound up on at the Alamo Freeze, where he bought a couple cheeseburgers for himself, a chicken burger for her, two large fries, and a chocolate shake each. They sat at a table across from each other and not for the first time she suddenly remembered that first time that he and Billy came over for dinner. Billy was trying so hard to be charming, doing his best to talk about Tim's recent prowess on the football field. Meanwhile, Tim had been slouchy, irritable, thwarting every good thing his brother tried to say about him, looking exasperated. It'd quickly escalated into an argument about their parents, their dad specifically, and Julie couldn't help but think it might've been the first real look she'd gotten at Tim Riggins. It wasn't flattering, by any means; if anything, it was sad. The big guy on campus, so to speak, was just a screwed up boy from a broken home, unwilling to even believe in himself and his own achievements when his own brother spoke highly of them.

At the time, she'd been more interested in Matt. Sweet, stuttery Saracen. Tim was just a blip on the radar; a footballer to add to the list of whom she could do without. Sitting across from him then, in the Alamo Freeze, watching him knock off two burgers like they were nothing, wiping at the corners of his mouth with his thumb, little in way of manners, watching her from the curtain of his hair, dark eyes under heavy brows, she wondered if maybe neither of them were the same people they were during that first meal.

His foot nudged hers; it was abrupt, just the toe of his shoe bumping hers. She thought it was a fluke at first but then his foot bumped her again, a little higher now, and she realized with a smile, lips quirking as she sucked the straw between her lips, that Tim Riggins was playing footsie with her.

When the food was gone and only the shakes remained, they climbed back into his truck, driving aimlessly for a while. She filled the silence like she was prone to do, sometimes giving him random facts about whoever was singing on the radio or telling him about something that happened in school that day. He was silent and she'd long grown used to it, so it didn't make her feel awkward when she babbled on about Faulkner and her favorite books he'd written. His hand settled on her thigh and for a second she equated it to his head, how easily it rested there, fit there. Tim dragged her across the seat so easily she might've thought she weighed nothing at all.

Losing her train of thought, forgetting entirely what she'd been saying about Faulkner, she started playing with the dial on his radio, all the while swallowing tightly at his fingers played over the seam of her jeans, the pressure on her thigh making her stomach twist up in that good, warm way.

She bit down on the straw of her shake and stared at the face of the radio, the street lamps and headlights of passing cars bouncing over the truck.

She wasn't sure where they were going, she wasn't sure where they were, but she liked it. She liked how easy it was to rest her head on his shoulder and just watch the painted lines on the road pass by.

Eventually, they made their way back toward her house and he parked in the driveway, truck idling.

She looked up at him. "You could come in," she said. "I didn't finish the chapter."

He stared down at her, hair falling in his eyes, and then he leaned down, until she felt the tips of his hair brushing her cheeks. Her breath left her in a rush and he stared her in the eye as his lips slanted over hers, firm and warm. His hand buried in her hair, twisted it up in his fingers, and he pulled her in close, kissing her harder, with every tension-filled moment of the last couple months finally coming to fruition. Julie panted against his lips, her heart racing, her brow knotted. She gripped the front of his shirt until she swore the fabric would tear under the pressure. She slid her hands up, squeezing his shoulders, kneading his neck, before finally holding onto his hair as tightly and desperately as he was hers.

His other hand was at her neck, thumb brushing up and neck, tracing circles. They kissed until breathing hurt and her lips were swollen. Until their foreheads were pressed together and it was just wet breath being passed back and forth between parted, panting lips.

She finally bit down on her lip as she saw a light go on at the neighbor's porch next door.

"You should go," he said, but he didn't pull away. "If I leave my truck here, Coach is gonna hear about it," he added, before she could remind him she'd invited him in.

She nodded faintly before finally pulling away, his fingers untangling from her hair as she released him and started to slide across the bench seat toward the door. She paused as she opened it and hopped down. "They're not back until Sunday night," she told him boldly, dropping her eyes briefly before looking at him once more. "Tomorrow night, maybe… I could make dinner." Her eyebrows hiked hopefully as she looked up at him.

His lips tilted in a half-smile and he gave her a nod.

She grinned, taking a step back to close the door.

"Hey Jules…"

She looked back at him.

"That Faulkner guy… You read him to me a lot."

She paused, considering it, and then nodded. "He's one of my favorites."

He nodded, glancing away, and twisted his hands around the steering wheel before he said, "He went to Ole Miss…"

She stared at him a long second and then blinked before letting out a startled laugh. "Only you and my dad can find a way to relate everything to football," she said.

He offered her another grin, ducking his eyes. And then he sat back in his seat, hands loosening on the wheel, and told her, "See ya tomorrow."

"Yeah…" She closed the door and stepped back, hugging her arms over her chest. "Night Tim."

He flicked his fingers up from the wheel in a wave before he pulled out of her drive.

She watched his headlights disappear down the road before turning around and going inside, smiling so widely her cheeks hurt.

After that, things just found a rhythm. Tim came over for dinner on Saturday, where they forewent the table and instead took up residence on the couch; he put ESPN on and she rolled her eyes but didn't mind much. She was used to it by now with her dad. Speaking of, her parents called her just as she was finishing dinner, moving her plate to the table and leaning back against the arm as she played with her bangs absently, telling them she was nearly finished her report, when in fact she'd finished it that morning, and listening to her mom tell her all about how her Aunty Shelley was doing, with some sisterly complaining laced between.

In the mean time, Tim had grabbed up her feet and dragged then into his lap. When she looked over at him, he was still facing the TV, intently listening to the highlights, but his hands were rubbing her feet, fingers scrubbing up the back and delicately circling her ankle bones. Distracted by his touch, it was hard to pay attention to what her mom was saying, but she hummed and laughed when appropriate before finally her mom handed the phone over to her dad. It was a few more minutes of Tim's fingers moving further and further up her leg, dragging up and down her calf while she tried to tell her dad she loved him and hoped he was having fun, listening to him complain that Shelley and her mom had been bickering the whole time and he was tired of the hen house. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she got off the phone, hitting end and tossing it away, before turning to see Tim, whose fingers had slid up under her knee, a smirk tilting his mouth in a devastatingly attractive way.

"Are you trying to get us caught?" She raised an eyebrow. "'Cause I'm pretty sure my dad would break every possible driving law to get back here to kill you."

He ducked his head a little, grinning. "Still got a little time though, huh?" He turned to look at her.

She stared at him, head tipped. "Yeah," she said. "A little."

He climbed up the couch and between her legs, lifting them up by her knees and wrapping them around his waist as he leaned down to kiss her, his body slowly lowering to on top of her, firm and heavy. It was all hands and lips for the next hour or so, clothing slowly being pushed out of the way, fingers sliding under to dance up naked skin. Her shirt was tossed to the floor and she laughed as he kissed down her stomach, sloppy and wet and nipping at her skin, chuckling as she squirmed under his mouth as it passed over her ribs. It was playful and sweet and she didn't think she'd ever seen a smile as lighthearted as the one he wore.

Until it wasn't so lighthearted and her hands were moving over the plains of his chest and the broad width of his shoulders, tracing the round biceps of his arms and dragging down his sides to his narrow waist. And then jeans were being shoved off and her shorts were tossed away and he was sitting up with her in his lap, her hair falling to curtain them in. His fingers slid between her legs and rubbed her through the damp fabric of her clinging underwear. She bit her lip, her nails digging into his shoulders, as he curved his fingers and slid them underneath to pass over the wet lips of her pussy, moving slow at first, exploring while she bucked her hips and pressed herself down more firmly. He turned his head up and sucked her neck, teeth scraping as he rubbed his fingers along her labia, drawing figure eights and flicking her clit, circling her entrance before delving in to one knuckle and then teasing away again.

Julie let out a frustrated sigh and pinched his shoulder. He chuckled against her neck, the vibrations making her whole body shake in reaction. He slid his finger inside her and crooked it, his thumb sliding under her underwear to rub her clit. Her thighs flexed as she rocked her hips down against it, wanting more, wanting that climax just out of reach. He kissed down her neck and dragged his teeth over her collar bone before he was pressing wet kisses down to the tops of her breasts. His free hand came up to pull the cup of her bra down and out of the way. She gasped as his lips wrapped around her nipple and sucked, his teeth lightly pressing against her skin. She jerked her hips down and he slid a second finger inside her, slow and easy.

"T-Tim," she breathed, arching her back, pressing herself against his mouth, her head falling back, hair slipping over her shoulders, soft and ticklish against her sensitive skin. His hand slid around to her back, running up and down her spine, encouraging her to move, to keep sliding against his finger, until he wasn't moving and it was just her; her bringing herself off on his long, rough fingers.

He kissed all around her nipple, sucking and nipping at her skin, before he dragged his tongue straight up her neck and kissed the pulse. She turned her head down to see him, his eyes darker than she'd ever seen, his face tight. She bent to kiss him, their mouths pressing together roughly, teeth and lips and reaching tongues. And finally, finally, as he bit her lower lip and whispered, "C'mon Jules," she came. A cracked cry and she was clenching and shaking and her whole body went warm and weightless. Her head fell back and she stared sightlessly at the ceiling, smiling as a hum ran through her.

Her arms wrapped loosely around his neck as her body slumped forward, legs giving out as she fell into his lap. She was flushed and happy and felt like she was floating still. When she looked back at him, he was watching her, his wet hand curled possessively around her thigh. She stared at him, breathing a little hard, and then she was leaning in, kissing him softly this time, sweetly. Her eyes drooped and she wanted nothing more than to just be like this, lost in this empty space of Tim and floaty happiness. He rubbed her back as her head fell to his shoulder, nose buried at his neck, fingers lazily stroking his shoulder.

It was a few minutes before she started kissing his neck, her hands sliding down his chest, spread out over his waist as she lifted herself back up and let her fingers find the button and zipper on his jeans.

"Not here," he said, reaching for her hands.

She met his eyes, confused, brow furrowed and lips pursed.

He kissed her frown, amused. "Not on the  _couch_ ," he clarified.

Before she could climb out of his lap, he pushed off the couch, his arms under her while her legs wrapped around his waist. He walked her down the hall to her bedroom and dropped her on the bed. She watched as he undid his jeans and shucked them away, boxer-briefs going with them. She bit her lip, staring at the long, hard length of him as her fingers reached behind her to finish undoing her bra. She shrugged it down her arms and let it drop to the floor. He walked toward her, leaning down to kiss her, fingers buried in her hair, and they leaned back against the bed together, bodies sliding together, fitting against each other. He slid her underwear down her hips and off her legs before hitching her knee up and over his hip.

It was slow and lazy and he took his time, letting his mouth wander from head to toe, tasting the backs of her knees and the soft insides of her thighs, the sharp angles of her hip bones and crooks of her elbows. By the time he was actually between her legs, a condom rolled on, and his hands spreading her thighs to accommodate him, her whole body was on edge, humming. Her skin was damp, hair sticking to her, and she was desperate for him. Her hands found his hips, squeezing as he slid inside her, stretching her. She'd never felt so full; so  _right_  before.

She remembered all the books she'd read; books that were flowery about sex and others that were downright raunchy. She remembered how some talked about this deep, world-changing connection between two people and how she'd always thought it was just stupid; a romantic load of crap. But for a moment, she felt suspended; she felt like the outside world had fallen away into non-existence. All there was left was Tim, his body rubbing, pressing, rocking into hers. His lips against her neck, sweaty cheek rubbing over her skin, his fingers tangled in her hair, gripping, tugging, as he pushed and pulled, and grunted her name against her like some broken prayer.

Her arms wrapped around him, holding him so tight she was a little surprised he could even move. Her hands dug into his back, gripping at him, falling into the dips of flexing muscle as he stretched out over her, pulling himself out, slow and lingering, before he thrust back in a little quicker, sharper, making her bounce, sliding up the bed a bit. She cried out each time, struggling to feel everything at once.

And then his lips were rubbing against hers, open and not so much kissing as just needing to touch hers before his fingers slid down and found her clit, circling and pinching. Her toes curled as she arched off the bed, coming as she mouthed his name on a silent shout. He moved quicker then, pounding into her until he'd joined her, breathing her name harshly, hips still stuttering afterwards, losing their rhythm, before finally he was just lying on top of her, heavy and sweaty and warm. His head fell, buried at her neck, his warm breath skittering over her skin.

She dragged her hand down the back of his head, combing them through his hair, over and over, while she listened to her heartbeat thumping in her ears, swallowing all other sounds.

Finally, he climbed off her and stumbled to the bathroom, clearly comfortable with his nudity while Julie reached for the sheet to pull around herself. He was gone a few minutes, in which she started to wonder just what happened and what it meant and whether he would leave and not come back. If this had all just been a build up to this and now it was over and he expected to go separate ways. She was chewing her lip, admitting to herself alone that the idea of him not coming around, not sitting on her couch, watching ESPN while she read, out loud or to herself, not resting his head in her lap, it physically hurt. It caused a pang in her heart that she knew she should probably explore more, but didn't, wouldn't, couldn't.

But he returned and he climbed under the sheet, turning onto his side and dragging her up against him, pressing a sloppy kiss to her hair. "We'll nap… then dessert…" he told her, his fingers rubbing circles over her stomach.

"Dessert?" she asked.

"Yeah? You hankerin' for a chocolate swizzler?" he wondered before yawning. "I am."

She smiled slowly and dropped her head down onto the pillow his arm made. "Yeah," she said. "I'd like that."

He hummed tiredly before quickly falling asleep, his quiet snoring oddly appealing. She covered his hand on her stomach and closed her eyes.

A couple hours later, they made a stop at the Alamo Freeze before returning to her place. He parked his truck around the block and they walked down the back alley to avoid the attention of her neighbors. They curled up on the couch just like they always did while she read from Faulkner's 'A Rose From Emily,' and he rested his head in her lap, listening to her. When she finished, she closed the book and he opened on eye.

"Dark," he said.

She nodded.

"So she liked, killed him, right? And then died all alone…?" He frowned, brow furrowed. "So why the hair then? If she killed him, she probably didn't love him."

"Or she loved him, despite his social standing, so much that she didn't want the town to split them up… So she kept him with her in the only way she knew how."

He raised an eyebrow. "You ever get an idea like that in your head, give a guy a warning, huh?"

She laughed, her head falling back. "You'll be at the top of my list."

"We can have a code word," he said, lips tilted, amused. "You say 'rose' and I know to get the hell outta dodge."

She bit her lip. "Should I be offended that you think I could kill someone?"

He shrugged. "Takes a lot to take me down, maybe you should be flattered."

Chuckling, she shook her head. "That's one way to look at it."

He pushed up to a seated position and gave a long sigh. "You tired?"

She didn't think she was until he mentioned it and then a yawn caught her unawares.

"All right, time for bed, Sleepin' Beauty," he said, standing up from the couch and holding a hand out for her to take.

She smiled, letting their fingers tangle, and followed him out, switching off lights as they went.

She shouldn't have been surprised when he followed her into her room and just got undressed, climbing into her bed like it was a normal, every day thing they did. And, in his defense, they did just have sex a few hours earlier and they'd taken a nap after, so she didn't think the situation was completely surreal. Feeling shy, and ridiculous for it, she stripped down out of the clothes she'd changed into earlier and climbed into bed next to him. There was something very intimate and very comfortable about sharing a bed with him. Maybe it was the way he completely ignored personal space boundaries and just invaded hers, seamlessly attaching himself to her in a way that, instead of being suffocating, was reassuring.

She knew there were questions that needed answering, that they needed to define what exactly they were or where this was going, but for the moment, she was content. She was happy to just fall asleep with his steady breathing at her back and his arms wrapped around her body.

She woke up to the smell of fresh coffee and burnt eggs and joined him in the kitchen where he was trying to clear out the smoke. He shrugged when he spotted her. "Points for trying?"

With a laugh, she nodded. "How about  _I_ do the cooking?"

He held his hands up in surrender.

Since the smell of burned eggs wasn't going to be leaving any time soon, she decided to make pancakes instead. They watched Sunday morning cartoons on the old TV, ate pancakes on the couch, and then he talked her into a shared shower that she wasn't really fighting much. He stuck around until her mom called to tell her they were almost home and would be stopping to pick something up for dinner, so she had to get the table ready.

She kissed him goodbye in the living room, her copy of These 13 sitting on the coffee table, frayed around the edges. His fingers threaded in her hair as he cradled her face, his mouth slanting slowly, lingering. Finally, when she thought she heard the sound of the car pulling into the drive, he stepped back, stared down into her eyes for a second, kissed her forehead, and finally left out the back.

She was still staring into the backyard, long after he'd snuck down the alley to where his truck was parked, when the door swung open and her parents walked inside, bickering lightheartedly as they went.

"Hey hon," her mom called, spotting her. "You have a nice weekend?"

Julie smiled. "The best."

"Girl spent her whole weekend doing homework," her dad muttered. "You're  _sure_ she's mine."

Rolling her eyes lightly, Julie turned around to rejoin her family, all the while feeling like something monumental had happened and they were completely unaware.

That was months ago. That was just the beginning of whatever they were. Of sneaking into his room at night and out in the morning, running into a half-asleep Billy more often than not. Telling her parents she was going to the library or to Lois' when really she was meeting him down the road and they'd drive around, down to the lake or the cliffs or nowhere in particular.

Sometimes she'd fill the silence and sometimes she just let it be. And other times, when he was fighting with Billy or he had a hard practice or things just built up, he'd do the talking. Telling her about his mom and his absent dad and how he tried to believe they were better than he remembered or how when he was a kid he'd make up stories in his head that he was normal and his family stuck around and cared. He talked about Jason and Lyla and Billy and Tyra and everything and everyone in between. And she would listen as quietly and as intently as he had her. Until the night grew late or the silence grew comfortable and they'd climb in the bed of his truck and she'd pull out a book or cuddle up against his chest and they'd lay there awhile, just enjoying the peace. Sometimes that peace led to them stripping down and putting the scratchy blanket he kept in his truck to better use and other days he'd paint a picture of the ranch he wanted to own.

There was a point when she realized she was in love with him. Love like in that devastating, all encompassing, probably going to regret it, broken-hearted kind of way. Love like the sound of his name still made her stomach flip-flop and the touch of his skin made her own warm and tingly. Love like sometimes she looked at him and she couldn't imagine what life would be like after him.

She kept them trapped behind her teeth, the words she was sure would send him running for the hills and their peaceful, unnamed  _thing_ into a tailspin. But it got harder. On days when all she wanted to do was thread her fingers with his as they walked through the halls at school or kiss him after a good game or hug him after a bad one. Late at night while her parents thought she was safe and innocent in her own bed while she was sleeping under the glow of Christmas lights strung up over Tim's, her clothes tossed somewhere in his messy room, their legs tangled, and his fingers drawing on her stomach.

And she finally asked what needed asking; what needed saying before she told him just how deep she'd gotten.

"What are we doing?" she asked in a barely there whisper.

He took his time answering, "Not obvious?"

Her lips twisted in a frown. "If it was obvious, would I ask?"

He sighed, long and heavy. "What do you want me to say, Jules?" he wondered, sounding defeated already

She folded her lips as they shook and closed her eyes. "I want…" Her throat burned hollow. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, gathering her courage. "I want everything we have in this room and in your truck and on my couch; I want that in the rest of Dillon… I want that on the football field and in the halls at school and at the Alamo Freeze. I want you over for dinner with my parents and I want to hold your hand in public and I just— I— I want  _all_ of it… Okay?" She shook her head. "I want you to say we can have that. That we  _will_ have that."

He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers still tracing on her stomach. "For how long?" he finally asked.

She frowned. "I don't… I don't know what you're asking."

"How long 'til being with me is too much of a pain, Julie?" He sighed, rolling onto his back. "How long 'til Dillon lets you know I'm not the right guy? 'Til your parents ask you if you're crazy for dating me?" He dragged a hand down his face. "Let's face it… I'm just Riggins… I'm #33 until I'm  _not_  and then I stick around and I get old and I pick up odd jobs here or there and barely make rent… I take after my parents and the legacy keeps goin' and… and  _you?_ " He laughed deprecatingly. "You get out and you live it up in a big city and you put your bad boy, Tim Riggins phase behind you. And ten, twenty years from now, I'm gonna look back and remember that time when I was happy and I had Julie Taylor and she still looked at me like I was worth something…" He licked his lips, swallowing tightly. "I'll remember, Jules, and you'll forget… That's just how these things go."

He pushed up, letting his legs fall over the side of the bed and kicked his feet around, searching for his jeans.

She stared at him a long moment, still feeling the 33 he carved into her skin with the pad of his finger.

" _Perhaps they were right in putting love in books… Perhaps it could not live anywhere else_ ," she murmured, quoting Faulkner, her eyes burning.

His shoulders slumped as his elbows fell to rest on his knees and he ran a hand through his hair.

"I won't forget," she told him, her voice sounding loud in the silence. "I won't forget the anticipation of waiting for you every night just so we could sit on a couch together… Not touching or talking, just reading and watching TV and sitting apart…" She shook her head, a tear dribbling down her cheek. "I won't forget every night I spent with you or the way your hands feel or how you voice gets deeper when you say my name. I won't forget those things, Tim. You don't  _forget_ love. You either fight for it or you don't, but you don't forget how it feels or why it happened or who that person was when you were with then. Those things stick with you. Those things will  _always_ stick with me." She stared at his back. " _You_  will always stick with me."

"'m not good enough. 'm not—"

"You are. You are plenty good." She pushed up to her knees and crawled across the bed, pressing against his back and wrapping her arms around him. "Tim, who am I?"

He frowned. "Jules. You're Julie."

"Right. I'm Julie Taylor. I grew up with Coach Eric Taylor, a man who expects 110% every day. Do you think I was raised to expect any less?" She brushed her fingers back through his hair soothingly, watching as his eyes fell to half-mass. "People have hurt you and left you and that makes you think it's you, but damn it, Tim…" She pressed her face down and kissed his shoulder. "It is  _their_ loss. Every day." Her hands rubbed down his chest. "And I'm not them… I don't want to lose you or walk away from you, I want to  _be_ with you. I don't care if the rest of Dillon doesn't like it or if my parents don't approve. I…" Her breath left her shakily. "I  _love_ you… and I'm done waiting for anything or anybody else to let me know that's okay."

He covered her hands on his chest and squeezed almost painfully tight. He dropped his chin and he brought her hand up to kiss one of her wrists and then he just held her there and she took it for what it was. She'd long learned Tim's silent cues and this was him agreeing, telling her she was right and he got it now.

She kissed his neck and let out a long breath, closing her eyes. A weight had been lifted from her shoulders, uncertainty fleeing in the face of questions answered.

Eventually, he turned over onto his side and laid on his bed with her cuddling up behind him for once, just holding him. And when she fell asleep, a smile on her lips, she felt his fingers drawing on her arm. Not 33 this time, but T-I-M and she thought that was an important distinction, because she loved him, pig skin and all, but it wasn't the cocky footballer that she fell for, but the quiet, broken man who showed up at her house looking for a father-figure in her dad and found her along the way.

The next morning, as she was sneaking back out, she paused as she saw Billy, a bowl of cereal in his lap and the TV playing lowly in the background.

"Hey Julie," he mumbled, slurping his Fruit Loops. "Have a good mornin'."

She half-smiled at him. "You too, Billy," she murmured, amused when he dribbled milk down his chest.

She made her way back home and climbed in through her window, replacing the balled up laundry with herself and falling into a peaceful sleep until her alarm woke her. She took her time getting ready, no longer feeling rushed or on a time crunch. She was content again, like she had been when they'd first gotten together, before uncertainties had time to fester.

She was just grabbing up her bag and getting ready to ask which of her parents she was driving in with when there was a knock at the door.

Her dad's head popped up from his newspaper, brow furrowed. "Who's that?"

Her mom took a step out of the kitchen, where she was putting together lunches, and shrugged. "Well I don't know, hon, but answering the door might answer it for ya."

He rolled his eyes and dropped his paper to the table before shoving his seat back and walking down the hall, muttering under his breath.

Julie grabbed an apple and rubbed it on her shirt as she leaned back against the counter. "So…? Am I riding in with dad or…?"

Before her mom could answer, footsteps could be heard as her dad reappeared. "Riggins," he said in way of explanation, the fullback stepping into the room just behind him as her dad started grabbing his things.

"Hey Tim, hon, you had breakfast yet?" her mom wondered, motioning to the boxes of cereal still sitting out. "Nothing fancy this morning."

"Uh, it's fine, Mrs. Coach, but thanks," he said, clearing his throat and shoving his hands in his pockets. "Listen, I… I wanted to ask you something, Coach… Mrs. Coach, you too…" He swallowed and looked between them as they walked forward, looking concerned. "I…" He glanced at Julie. "I'd like… your  _permission_ to, uh… take Julie on a date."

They blinked at him.

And then her dad started laughing. His head fell back as he laughed and he let out a long, humorous sigh before he fell back in a chair. "Son, it is too early for that kind of humor," he finally said.

They stared at him.

"I don't think he's joking," Tami told him, her eyes round. "Fact, I think he's very,  _very_ serious."

Eric Taylor's face went blank as he turned to look between his daughter and his fullback. "You wanna take a big step back and explain this to me?" he demanded, glaring.

"We just got close," Julie piped up. "He came over to see you and sometimes you weren't here, so we'd—"

"You'd  _what?_ " he interrupted, casting his eyes between them dangerously.

"We'd watch television," she said, rolling her eyes. "Or, well, he did, while I read."

"And that's it…? You watch a little TV with my daughter —my very  _young_ , beautiful,  _sensitive_ daughter— and you want to  _date_ her?" he asked, staring at Tim incredulously.

"Yes, sir," he said simply with a nod.

Eric ran a hand through his hair roughly before opening his mouth, closing it, trying again, repeating the same, and finally he just walked past them and toward the door. "I'll see you on the field, Riggins," he shouted back.

The door slammed behind him.

Tami turned to them giving an awkward smile. "Well… I think it's fair to see you'll have a lot to prove today in practice, Tim."

"Yes, ma'am." He half-smiled, looking over at Julie. "I can handle it."

"Uh-huh…" Tami drawled, eyes moving between them. "Well, listen, your daddy was gonna drive you in today, Jules, so…"

"Tim can," Julie said, grinning.

"You sure you don't want to  _check_  with him first?" her mother wondered, amused.

She raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged. "That's an emphatic yes," she translated for her mother.

Tami chuckled under her breath. "Nice to hear." She moved around her and said, "I need to get Gracie Belle ready, but…" She hooked her purse over her shoulder. "After school, Julie, me and you…" She stared at her seriously, her eyes wide, "We're gonna have a nice, long chat, okay?"

Knowing it was non-negotiable, she simply nodded.

"It was nice seeing you, Tim…" She patted his arm. "If you survive practice, why don't you come over for dinner on Thursday?"

"Uh, sure, yeah."

"Great." She waved her fingers in farewell before she made her way over to her youngest daughter.

"Ready?" Julie asked, looking up at him expectantly.

He gave her a quick, short nod.

Grabbing up her bag, she made her way down the hall and out the front door with him just behind her.

The drive to school was mostly quiet, aside from her fiddling with the radio and humming to herself. They were nearly at the high school when she said, "I can't tell if you outing us to my dad like that was the smartest or dumbest way of doing it…"

He smirked over at her. "I'm not dead, so… I'm gonna hafta chalk this one up in the win column, Taylor."

She rolled her eyes. "You're not dead  _yet_ ," she corrected. "You've still got a practice to go to, remember."

He chuckled to himself as he pulled into the parking lot and swung his truck into a slot. "I'll survive," he assured her.

"Hope so," she said, grabbing up her bag. "Things were just getting interesting."

With a snort, he circled the truck to meet her as she hopped out. "Think I resent that, Jules. Things've been plenty interesting up to this point."

"Is that right?" she asked, grinning up at him as they made their way into the school.

He nodded at her, mouth tilted with a smirk.

"I think we can do better," she said, grinning up at him.

"Overachiever," he accused lightly.

She laughed, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

They were half-way down the hall when he reached for her, tangling their fingers together, just like she wanted.

Her laughter faded as a soft and genuine smile lit her face.

"You know Faulkner was a drunk?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow. "One of them functioning alcoholics, where he still wrote his stuff sober but as soon as he put the typewriter away or whatever, he hit the bottle."

She squeezed his hand. "Yeah?"

He nodded, rubbing his thumb over her finger.

"When'd you start looking into Faulkner anyway?"

He shrugged, licking his lips. "First night I saw you reading him."

She looked up at him, surprise and pleasure playing over her face.

He flipped their hands up and wrapped his arm around her, never letting her fingers go as he pulled her into his side and dropped his face down to the top of her head. "Y'know what I forgot?"

"What?"

"Last night when you said… what you said…"

"That I loved you," she said, nodding. It was getting easier to say it now, maybe because the words had been waiting to come out for so long.

"Yeah…" He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. "I love you too, Jules… Won't always say it the right way, but I'll always mean it."

Julie turned her head up and bit her lip as she smiled. "I think I've gotten pretty good at reading between the lines."

He half-grinned down at her.

She stopped suddenly and turned her body to face him, hands falling to his hips.

He raised an eyebrow, asking what she was doing without words.

"Remembering," she told him, staring up at him. "All of it."

He shook his head for a second before leaning down and kissing her, their lips slanting together, his fingers threading in her hair. And just like every time before, the rest of the world faded; the whispering, pointing, curious and incredulous students faded out of existence, her world narrowing to where Tim's lips met hers and his fingers tugged on her hair, to his body pressed firmly against her own and their breath mingled and exchanged between parted mouths.

They didn't break apart until the warning bell rang and then feet were moving past them, bodies rushing toward class, while they smiled, unhurried, and finally turned, walking down the hall once more, hands swinging together, united, finally.

What were they doing?

Making memories.

[ **End.** ]


End file.
